


The World Could Change Its Heart

by novahainn



Series: The Highbrow Approach [1]
Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Canon Universe, Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Marriage, Romance, Shirbert, but yeah, god i dunno what to tag it as, i dunno man, most of those characters are just mentioned not actually present per se, ya get the gist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 15:00:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17143928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novahainn/pseuds/novahainn
Summary: Anne attempts to write about the experiences of others. Gilbert attempts to help.





	The World Could Change Its Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdelphaHighbrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelphaHighbrow/gifts).



> Well, here it is!! The first of several fics following AdelphaHighbrow's Secret Santa prompts. I will be compiling them all into a series, all of fics followed the aforementioned prompts... so I guess it's the gift that keeps on giving!! (at least until I've done all the prompts...)
> 
> Anyhow, enjoy!!

Knowing his wife’s tendencies (his _wife_ ; he still can’t quite believe his luck), Gilbert pretends to ignore the incessant tapping of her pen and the intermittent huffs and sighs escaping her lips every few seconds, instead busying himself with the distraction of their numerous children so as to leave her to her frustration in peace. Only after a somewhat hazardous dinner (not because he can’t cook; he very much can, and quite well, but that is simply what happens when your children continuously attempt to sneak off and peek over their mother’s shoulder and end up spilling half the contents of their plates), a captivating reading of specially requested Shakespearean sonnets by Walter, and Di’s quiet pleading to stay up followed by her father’s gentle pressing into bed (and a secret promise to play with _her especially_ tomorrow), is Gilbert finally able to ask his wife:

“What has you so riled up, my love?”

 She drops her hands into her lap heavily, and only then does he notice that despite the paper before her she is actually sewing something; a tear in one of Jem’s shirts. “Well…” She purses her lips and glances away -- he recognises the mannerism.

 He drops the short stool onto the floor next to her, softly, and plops down onto it, patting her knee. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. I’ve seen you do _all sorts._ ” He quirks an eyebrow at her and she reddens quickly enough that he doesn’t have to hold the falsely cheeky look for very long and instead smiles bashfully, glancing away and colouring at the ears and patting her knee again. He rubs it slightly with the tips of his fingers. “So, what’s the problem?”

 She sighs again through her teeth, glancing upwards as though asking God to give her strength -- something he has often seen Marilla do, which makes him smile. She takes it as a sign to continue. “Well,” she starts again, more resolutely, sitting up straight like she used to do when they were young and he was trying to get her attention and she pretended to hate him, “I’m trying to write a story. A short story. A romantical tale.”

 “And what is it about?” Gilbert prompts, because he knows as much as she does that she is perfectly aware of the exact plot of the story.

 “Ah, see, that is what has me all muddled. The main characters -- the lovers, that is -- are… well…” she pauses to make an odd, slightly squirmy shrugging gesture, “they’re like Aunt Jo.”

 Gilbert frowns a little, for a fraction of a second, before understanding slowly, carefully, spreads over his face. He nods, shifting his gaze to the blank paper. “I see.” He doesn’t have a problem of any sort with people like Aunt Jo -- quite the contrary; he is quite good friends with Cole, and with his ‘friend’, and got along splendidly with Aunt Jo herself before she passed away. And it’s not like who people love is any of his business.

 “Gilbert?” Anne quirks her head downwards, her face in front of his. She grimaces slightly. “You don’t think it’s strange, do you? I mean, there isn’t a single book -- a single one! -- that I’ve read that is about a couple who are of the same sex. You’d think that at some point _someone_ would have written about it -- granted, not a soul can convince me that Shakespeare doesn’t draw parallels between Romeo and Juliet and Hamlet and Horatio -- but otherwise, nothing! Really, they must be hidden away somewhere, since people are so cowardly that they must do away with anything that they can’t understand. But I have decided to be different. _I_ don’t understand -- I do not like women in that way myself, though I understand why someone would -- but I will do my best to do justice to the experiences of- Gilbert?” He stares up at her, and she seems to suddenly become aware of the hand clasping her own tightly. “Gil? Whatever’s the matter?”

 “I-” he stops suddenly, laughing almost grimly to himself and reddening, “When you said you wanted to write a story about people like Aunt Jo, I thought- well, for a second I wondered-”

 “-if I am attracted to women?” Anne finishes with a small grin, the ones she used to throw at him in triumph after beating him at something back in their schoolhouse days. She turns their clasped hands over and squeezes. “Well, I don’t know. Sometimes I have thought, when I was tired of boys and their endless annoyances, that if I could simple marry Diana, or Ruby, that I would, and be done with the whole thing. Of course, after finding out about Aunt Jo and Aunt Gertrude, I stopped thinking of such things so lightly, but- Oh, Gilbert, _no_ ,” she sighs, slipping off her chair and kneeling down in front of him. He looks away from her, embarrassed. “Don’t be silly now, Gilbert Blythe. Now just because I might think that I have the potential to love a woman in a romantical way does not mean I don’t love you anymore! It took us long enough to get to where we are, I am quite sure that I am extremely certain that I do and will always love you, Gil.” At the lack of response, she pushes his knee. “Gilbert, stop this at once or I will be forced to properly position myself and propose to you this right very instant, even though we are already married with several children. I will do it, Gilbert. There is no reason why a woman couldn’t do it. I will. And then I will laugh at you for being so silly, since the insecure one is supposed to be _me_. No, sir, I will not have this. Alright, then. Gilbert Blythe, will you-”

 “No, no!” he stammers, covering her mouth with his free hand, a mortified expression on his face. “You don’t have to- I’m sorry. That was stupid of me. You’re right, dear Anne, my dear beloved wife; you’re right, as always.” He kisses her hands slowly.

 She shrugs, smiling a little. “We both know you are wrong there, but I will accept it while you believe it.”

 “I don’t anymore; you are very often wrong.”

 “Hey- Oh!” she gasps as he suddenly sits up from his stool and drops down onto her chair, pulling her with him and onto his lap. He shifts slightly so that they can face the ever-blank sheet of paper on the desk.

 “Okay, enough of my idiocy. What exactly is the problem here?” he says, snaking an arm around her waist and tapping the desk with the end of her discarded pen.

 “Though I hate to admit it, I simply have no clue as to how to go about writing a love story between two women.” She releases a long sigh, leaning into him. “Is it different than between a man and a woman? Obviously so, but are the _feelings_ different? Is it a different _kind_ of love? Is it more difficult to understand, or to reach?”

 “Difficult to reach should not be a problem for you, my love,” Gilbert supplies, tickling her side a little. She wriggles, pushing his hand away. “It’s not like it took us five years to become friends and then being engaged to other people before finding our way to each other.”

 “Well, yes, that is true. Hm. Maybe I should simply ask Cole about it. I should ask someone who is like Aunt Jo, even if he is man who loves men. He will understand it all more than me.”

 “I think that is a good idea, though I _also_ think that you write wonderfully, Anne, even about people who are not like you. You write very sensitively.”

 “Thank you, I do try. But I must also be mature and accept that I simply cannot understand the experiences of others, and that it is okay to ask for help. I wish it were easier to research people who love others of the same sex. That’s what I do when I write about people from other countries or of other ethnicities. I wish people -- the world -- would change. They should change.”

 “Maybe someday it will be possible, Anne. Until then,” he bounces her on his knee as he would with their children, at which she almost loses her balance, “it seems like you’ll have to teach everyone yourself. Would you try to publish such a story?”

 “I would! Though I don’t think it would go over very well.” She hums disappointedly.

 He rests his head against her arm. “Maybe not, but you’ll have tried, and that’s what matters.”

 “Yes. I will do my part.”

 “And I will cheer for you because I have terrible handwriting and am therefore largely unhelpful.”

 “Your handwriting used to be quite neat. I remember when I begrudgingly borrowed your notes.”

 “How the tables have turned.”

 “Hmph!” She twists around on his lap, resting her arms over his shoulders and around his neck limply. “Now that’s not fair. I wasn’t allowed to write at the orphanage.”

 “And a shame, too. They almost wasted such _great_ potential.”

 “Indeed they did. Now, how about you and I,” she says, a sly smile on her face, “go to bed? It is _awfully_ late.”

 He raises his eyebrows at her, fumbling to put out the lamp on the table before allowing her to lead him away from the discarded pen and paper, and the half-mended shirt thrown over the back of her chair.


End file.
